


like the promises in magazines

by problematic_pleasures



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Set in some indeterminate future, Spousal bickering, warm and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematic_pleasures/pseuds/problematic_pleasures
Summary: peachncreme said: Was thinking about writing something like this myself but it'd be awesome if you did as well: Negan running his fingers through Carl's hair, playing with strands of it, admiring how lovely it is etc.





	

**Author's Note:**

> rating this t but it starts to edge toward m near the end--enjoy!

“We’re like kings.”

The words, gruff and pleased, rouse Carl from his state of contentment. He opens his single eye and peers up at the older man looming over him. Carl raises a curious eyebrow and replies with a curious sound.

In response, Negan drops a hand to comb through Carl’s long locks. “Look at this,” Negan nods toward the picturesque scene before them. Out beyond the porch of the townhouse, other people mill about looking sour, working hard while avoiding looking directly at Negan; in the distance, there’s the groan of walkers, and the rhythmic buzz of their quiet city. “All ours.”

Carl turns his head slightly to look as well, though he’s not quite as enamored as his lover. He shrugs, then settles in again, making himself comfortable in Negan’s lap. “Sure,” he agrees lazily, all while leaning into Negan’s soothing touch.

Negan laughs and it jostles them both, but not enough to disturb his hand. He keeps brushing through Carl’s hair, untangling knots and caressing the kid’s scalp. He scratches his nails along the sensitive skin of his hairline, just behind Carl’s ear, along the even more delicate skin of his neck. “What, bored already?”

Carl rolls his eye before closing it again. “Whatever,” he says. He raises a hand and seeks out Negan’s free hand, catches the older man’s palm and links their fingers. “Just keep doing that,” Carl commands softly.

“Bossy little bitch,” Negan replies without heat. He does in fact carry on in his ministrations. He relishes the feel of Carl’s hair slipping between his fingers, the heat of his skin and the stick of sweat from the overwhelming summer heat.

“Prick,” Carl barks back, though he’s less than menacing when it dissolves into a pleased sigh. His back arches as pleasure and heat ripple through his body, and he stretches like a cat across Negan’s legs. “Like you’d have it any other way.”

Negan finally pauses. He looks down at Carl and grins. “Got me there, kid.”

Carl smiles, too. The moment passes and stretches into comfortable silence, during which Carl starts to doze again. He toes the line between conscious and not—everything is cozy and warm, the sounds around them blending into hazy, half-formed dreams. The burn of Negan’s body under him pushes the edge of almost too warm, but Carl doesn’t mind it, especially not with the hypnotic sensation of his hair being ever so lovingly handled.

Carl wakes once more when the sun has started to set and the air has chilled. “Hm?” He sits up slowly, sluggish, and relaxes as Negan’s arms wind around him. “Time s’it?”

“Dinner time, kid.” Negan murmurs. He leans in and brushes his lips along Carl’s neck, letting his stubble scrape the starkly soft skin. He nips at the juncture of neck and shoulder, then kisses the small red mark left behind. “Thought you might’a gone comatose on me.”

Carl rolls his eye again. “Right.” He stretches again, this time to wake his muscles and shake off the remnants of his nap. He shifts and swings his legs off the bench, sliding off Negan’s lap in a single, fluid movement. “C’mon then,” he says around a yawn. He holds out a hand to Negan. “Need help, old man?”

Negan growls and stands without taking Carl’s hand. He corners Carl against the railing of the porch and cups his chin. “Don’t push me,” he warns.

Carl doesn’t cower or backdown; rather, he meets Negan’s gaze with defiance and desire. The corners of his lips quirk into a taunting grin. He rolls onto the balls of his feet and catches Negan’s lips in a kiss, far too short and chaste for the heat burning between them. “I’m _so_ scared,” Carl teases.

Negan kisses him again, crowds him until Carl’s back collides with the railing in a burst of pain. Carl’s hands scramble knot in Negan’s grimy tank top, pulling him closer. Negan licks into Carl’s mouth as a possessive groan rumbles in his throat. He pulls back only enough to hiss against Carl’s lips, “you should be, brat.”

Carl slides his hands up and latches onto Negan, lifts one leg and then the other till they’re both wrapped tight around Negan’s waist. Negan cups Carl’s ass with both hands, for support and to cop a feel. “Fuck dinner,” Carl breathes.

Negan nods. “Yeah,” he agrees, thoughts thick and foggy with lust. “Yeah,” he says again, hungry for something other than food, as he carries Carl back into the house.


End file.
